


but at least the war is over

by neverwherever



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Love, Post-Canon, Post-Chairman Election Arc, Post-Dark Continent Arc, Rage, Revenge, all my fics are actually just excuses to write whale island lol, also all pairings are implied at the most, how is that not already a tag??, themes of, this is pretty gen, whale island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwherever/pseuds/neverwherever
Summary: "The news said that when the authorities found the bodies of the Kurta clan sprawled across the village, they burned them. Kurapika could not really fault them for that. It was easier and more efficient than a mass grave, after all, and there had been no one to tell them that the Kurta did not burn their dead.The Kurta desired to be returned to the earth, wrapped in cloth, not even a coffin to stand between their flesh and the forces that would break them back down into the elements they had formed from. It was an insult to burn them, but Kurapika had no one to blame but himself for that. He hadn’t been there. They couldn’t have known.But Kurapika would do it properly now."When the quest for all the eyes has finished, what is left? More vengeance, perhaps — or perhaps a little peace.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Kurapika, Gon Freecs & Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 13
Kudos: 133





	but at least the war is over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t0talcha0s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/gifts).



> ahhh idk what this is, i mostly just wanted to write kurapika and gon hanging out on whale island bc i don't think they interact enough and also i love whale island, but this is kurapika we're talking about after all so of course it turned into something heavier than that. i hope you enjoy anyway! 
> 
> the prayer Kurapika says in the beginning is taken from the 1999 anime, and some details of Kurapika's childhood are taken from the standalone "Kurapika's Memories" which you can (and should tbh) read here: https://imgur.com/gallery/V3k8Q and here: https://imgur.com/gallery/GFSqj
> 
> thanks as always @t0talcha0s, the crab is for you <3

When the Black Whale finally returned — a little more battered than it was when it left, and a lot emptier — Kurapika set off immediately towards home.

The whole journey there, his phone buzzed with incoming calls — from Melody, from members of the Nostrade family, from Leorio, of course — but he had become very skilled at ignoring incoming calls over the years. And on that journey, nothing felt very real, everything blurring by and all the sounds muffled. Kurapika could not stop thinking, in broken fragmented flashes, of that final confrontation with Tserreidnich, of all the eyes watching them, of time falling to pieces and coming together again, of Pairo- Pairo’s head- his hair clutched in Tserriednich’s hand and Tserriednich tossing him on the floor like a gauntlet, like a piece of garbage-

No use, Kurapika chided himself, no use thinking about it now. But still the images plagued him as he bore his grim cargo to the center of the spiral in the Lukso Province’s forest.

He hadn’t been there since he was twelve years old. The wild forest plants had done quick work of reclaiming the burnt and broken shells of the buildings. Kurapika did not allow himself to pause on the threshold of the cottage that had once been his. The ground was still soft with ashes.

The news said that when the authorities found the bodies of the Kurta clan sprawled across the village, they burned them. Kurapika could not really fault them for that. It was easier and more efficient than a mass grave, after all, and there had been no one to tell them that the Kurta did not burn their dead. The Kurta desired to be returned to the earth, wrapped in cloth, not even a coffin to stand between their flesh and the forces that would break them back down into the elements they had formed from. It was an insult to burn them, but Kurapika had no one to blame but himself for that. He hadn’t been there. They couldn’t have known.

But Kurapika would do it properly now.

“Sun in the sky, trees on the ground,” Kurapika murmured to himself, as the shovel sank into the soft earth.

“Our bodies created from the earth, our souls from the heavens.” Thirty six graves in neat rows, in the burial grounds that had become a wild garden of green ferns and bright delicate flowers since Kurapika had seen it last.

“The sun and moon shines on our limbs, and the ground moistens our body, giving this body to the wind that blows.” Gently, he wrapped each pair of eyes in clean white cloth and placed them in their graves. His hands trembled when he got to Pairo, who’d been preserved so well his hair was still soft when Kurapika wrapped the cloth around him. Halfway through filling in Pairo’s grave Kurapika was overcome with some sort of strange vertigo and had to crouch for a few minutes with one hand planted on the ground, leaning heavily on the shovel, struggling to take deep breaths. But soon it passed, and he continued on.

“I give thanks for the miracle, and the Kurta territories, wishing for everlasting peace in our souls.” Thirty-six squares of overturned dirt. Methodically, moving as if in a haze, Kurapika picked wildflowers and laid them down atop each one.

“I desire to share happiness with my people, and I desire to share their sorrow.” He’d said this prayer with his mother and father many times, and with all his kinsmen, during times of prosperity and times of trouble; he’d said it before he even knew what the words meant, before he could even pronounce them properly.

“Please forever bless the members of the Kurta clan.” He’d said this prayer to the moon, once, his heart filled to the brim with icy rage while Uvogin pissed drunkenly against a rock face. He’d wanted, in that moment, to be touched by something from home, to allow his people’s language to grace his tongue once more.

“Let our scarlet eyes bear witness,” he finished, and sank slowly to his knees before the graves.

It was a strange feeling, crying. He hadn’t done it in so long he’d almost forgotten what it was like.

…

Kurapika went back to Yorknew, made some vague diplomatic apologies to the family for vanishing, and drifted through the days. He did his job as well as he ever had, but some people — Melody, namely — realized that the fiery determination he’d nursed for so long had gone out of him.

He brushed off her concerned questions. There was still work to be done, after all. The Spiders were still out there. He’d heard, of course, that Chrollo had unbound his Nen, that they were hunting for Hisoka, that two more of their members were dead, that two Zoldyck brothers had joined their ranks – Illumi and another one, younger even than Killua, who Kurapika had never met.

So, in other words, all the work Kurapika had done to weaken Chrollo had been undone, and though they’d lost two people, they’d been replaced by two others who were probably much stronger, if Illumi and Killua were at all indicative of a trend in that strange family. After the burial of his people’s eyes, whenever Kurapika turned his thoughts towards the Troupe he only felt … exhausted. The realization frightened him, but he could not muster much more. Each night he'd take a flint to the old flame, striking and striking, and often there would be a spark and a brief blaze ... but then it would flicker out. Something had gone out of him, kneeling there in the burial grounds. Something fundamental had drained away.

Leorio still called him constantly. Kurapika even began picking up, on occasion, if the whim struck him. Leorio seemed surprised every time. He was loud, and brash, and yelled at Kurapika with transparent worry. Once, Kurapika let him talk him into meeting him for lunch.

“You look like shit,” Leorio said from the other side of their little table, on a patio out in the sun.

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “Charming as ever, Leorio.”

“I just mean … have you been eating?”

“I need to eat to live, don’t I,” Kurapika said flatly.

“That’s not really an answer,” Leorio said, and pushed his plate of takoyaki across the table. Reluctantly, Kurapika picked one up and took a bite. It was good, and his stomach rumbled all of a sudden; he took another bite.

“Can I ask you something?” Leorio said after a few moments.

Kurapika glanced up at him, then back down at the food. “I can’t stop you, I suppose,” he said.

“Why are you still working for the mafia? I know you only did it to get close to the eyes. But now that’s finished. Why are you still there?”

“They pay well,” Kurapika said, pushing the takoyaki around with his chopsticks.

Leorio scoffed. “As if you’ve ever cared about money. Kurapika, really, you should quit. It’s not a good world to be involved in if you don’t have to.”

“You can’t just quit the mafia,” Kurapika said. He meant to inject a little contempt into his tone, but all he could manage was weariness.

“But you want to?” Leorio asked, blinking at him with something akin to hope. “You’re good at being covert. You could get out of there, you could find something else to do.” He paused. “You could stay with me, if you wanted.”

Kurapika didn’t know what to say, so he took another bite instead, until Leorio stopped looking at him so expectantly. Eventually Leorio just sighed, and went on.

“I’m surprised you agreed to come today,” he said. “I’m surprised you’ve been taking my calls. Have you … have you talked to Gon or Killua lately?"

“Not … recently,” Kurapika admitted. “But I did call Killua before we boarded the Black Whale.”

“And Gon?”

Kurapika pushed his takoyaki around some more.

“You haven’t talked to him since before he was in the hospital, have you,” Leorio said, voice gone flat.

Kurapika could only look down, his jaw tightening.

Leorio shook his head and looked to one side. “Why didn’t you come, Kurapika? He was _dying_ . If it weren’t for Killua, he _would_ have died.”

“I didn’t know,” Kurapika said.

“If you had picked up the phone you would have!” Leorio shouted. Kurapika took it with a blank face.

Leorio looked immediately regretful and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I just mean … he’s your friend. _Our_ friend. And you know … he’s just a kid. I swear everyone forgets that half the time. He should never have been in that situation…” 

Leorio looked off beyond Kurapika’s shoulder for a moment. Kurapika could tell his mind was elsewhere. Somewhere painful. But then his eyes moved back to Kurapika’s face and he seemed to shake it off.

“I just think you should visit him,” he went on. “He’s back on Whale Island now. And I think … he’s kinda lonely. He’d love to see you.”

“You think so?” Kurapika said.

“I know,” Leorio answered. Out of the corner of his eyes, Kurapika saw their server emerge from the door into the restaurant and move towards them. “Now, takoyaki’s just an appetizer. You have to get something real to eat, too.”

Kurapika opened his mouth to protest, but Leorio gave him a hard look and he subsided, thinking with some measure of resolve of his phone, and of Gon’s number programmed into it.

Well. Why not? Perhaps Gon would be angry with him. Perhaps he would be cold. Perhaps Kurapika wanted that. Deserved that.

(And perhaps he would be warm, and smile, and that would be a punishment of its own.)

* * *

Kurapika had seen Whale Island once before, but of course he hadn’t known Gon then. The boat to the mainland had stopped there for one night on the way to the exam, and Kurapika had eaten fried fish in the pub by the docks and then, growing tired of the rowdy boisterousness of drunken sailors, had gone for a walk along the beach. The crash of the waves was soothing, and the exotic calls of the birds in the trees reminded him of home. It had turned out to be one of the most peaceful nights he’d had in a while, or since.

And now, Gon was there to greet him when the ship docked, waving with his whole arm, smiling with his whole face. There to hug him, and Kurapika was startled at how much he’d grown. There to walk with him up to his house, where his aunt and great-grandmother greeted Kurapika with tea and a homemade dinner.

Kurapika did not say very much during dinner, content rather to watch the dynamic of the Freecs family unfold. Mito was sweet and motherly to him, but unafraid to be stern with Gon; Gon took her chiding with a sheepish smile. Abe had a sly sort of wit that often had Mito blushing. Gon was exuberant to have a visitor and spent half the time telling stories of Kurapika’s achievements in the exam and in Yorknew: Kurapika is so smart, Kurapika is really strong, Kurapika is very brave. Kurapika took his praise as gracefully as he might, though he felt perhaps Gon was blowing things out of proportion a little.

In the kitchen, afterward, Kurapika helped Mito wash the dishes while Gon wiped down the kitchen table and swept up.

“I’m glad to meet another of Gon’s friends,” she said to him, and gave him a small, genuine smile. “He speaks of you all so often. I know he misses everyone dearly.”

Kurapika looked down at the dish he was scrubbing, feeling inexplicably shamed. “I’ve missed him too,” he said.

“How long will you be staying?” Mito asked.

“I’m not sure,” Kurapika answered. “Perhaps a week. Maybe more.”

“Well, then we’ll have to set you up something more comfortable than a mat on the floor,” Mito said.

Kurapika looked up. “I don’t mean to intrude, I intended to find someplace in town–”

“Don’t be silly,” Mito said, and met his eyes. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was steel in her gaze. “Any friend of Gon’s is welcome here.”

And so Kurapika found himself settling in that night on a cot in a spare room beneath sheets that smelled like fresh air and sea salt. He heard a knock on the doorframe, and a familiar head of spiky black hair poked around the cracked-open door.

“Goodnight, Kurapika!” Gon said. “I just wanted to ask, do you want me to show you around the island tomorrow?”

“Alright,” Kurapika said, for he could think of no reason not to.

Gon beamed. “Okay! It will be fun! I’ll wake you up early, okay?”

Kurapika did not even have a moment to protest, because then Gon was gone; Kurapika heard his footsteps bounding down the hallway and up the stairs, eventually settling in the room just above Kurapika’s head.

Not that he would have protested. Kurapika hadn’t slept well for years, and this night was no exception. He woke when the first rays of sun began filtering through the window, and sat cross-legged and meditating — trying to empty his mind of as much thought as possible, an often fruitless task since his brain was hard-pressed to rest for even one blissful second — in the brightening square of light on the worn wooden floor for an hour before he heard movement start up elsewhere in the house.

Mito foisted upon him a hearty breakfast of eggs, flavorful white fish, fresh-baked bread and island fruit. Gon scarfed his food down as fast as any fast-growing boy would while Kurapika pushed his own food around a bit until Mito gave him a pointed look that made him feel oddly young — he forced himself to finish his plate, though he hadn’t really felt hungry for ages.

Then he and Gon were out in the sunlight again. As Gon showed him around the woods, down to the shore and along the seaside to town, Kurapika had the impression that Gon was constantly reigning himself in; there was a vibrating sort of sense coming off of him at all moments that suggested to Kurapika that in different circumstances — say, if Kurapika were a certain shorter, white-haired boy — Gon would be forcibly grabbing his arm and running with him from place to place and speaking at a much more excitable volume. And that was saying something, seeing as Gon at present was already loud enough to send birds flying.

Killua was clearly on Gon’s mind, anyway. Kurapika didn’t think Gon even noticed how often he mentioned the other boy. 

“Look, Kurapika, there’s a volcano up on the highest point of the island, we call it the whale spout, isn’t it kind of funny how me and Killua both grew up near a volcano? His is a dead volcano though, and this one is still active —”

“Kurapika, maybe we’ll see Kon around here! He’s a foxbear I raised from a cub — Killua said it’s dumb that I basically named him after myself, but I guess I wasn’t very creative when I was six —”

“Do you want to get some ice cream while we’re in town, Kurapika? There’s this place I know that will you let you put like a billion toppings on for free if you want — I usually just get strawberry, but Killua always liked the chocolate sauce and chocolate chips and sprinkles and stuff —”

“I was gonna go fishing to get something for dinner if you wanted to come too, Kurapika. Killua thought it was kinda boring after a while and he got grossed out by the worms and stuff, but maybe you’d like it! I think it’s fun, anyway —”

So Kurapika accompanied Gon to his favorite fishing spot and sat with him for hours as Gon baited and cast and reeled again and again, patient to an extreme that seemed to defy his nature, humming contentedly. Kurapika started to sunburn after the first hour and Gon made him a hat of leaves which Kurapika felt foolish wearing until Gon made one of his own despite the fact his skin seemed to absorb sun without a problem.

Sitting there without distraction, Kurapika was forced to face up to the fact that he had been feeling progressively worse and worse as the day went on and it became increasingly clear that Gon held absolutely no resentment towards him for not being there for him in his time of need and ignoring him for so long. Kurapika had grown to crave penance, but it seemed that in this case Gon had none to offer him.

“Gon,” he said eventually and quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Gon blinked at him in genuine confusion. “For what?”

“I didn’t visit you when you were in the hospital,” Kurapika said, feeling the shame he had long refused to acknowledge. “I didn’t do anything at all.”

“Oh,” Gon said, and shrugged. “That’s okay, Kurapika. It’s not like I would have known you were visiting anyway.” He let out a little laugh and flashed a smile. “Honestly I think Leorio’s more upset about that than I am.”

“I see,” Kurapika said, and allowed himself a small smile. “That is very like him.”

Gon cast the line out again; Kurapika watched it make its graceful arc.

“Have you talked to Leorio much?” Kurapika said. “Since you’ve been back here, I mean.”

Gon brightened. “Yeah! We talk on the phone all the time. He’s the one I hear from the most, actually.”

“Really?” Kurapika tilted his head a bit. “What about Killua?”

Gon’s smile dimmed. The motion of his hands paused for a moment in the middle of slowly reeling the line back in. 

“Killua’s really busy,” he said. “And he’s moving around a lot, so I get it if he doesn’t really have time to call. And he has to take care of his sister, so —”

Gon stopped abruptly, his eyes widening. “Oh, uh, I don’t think I’m actually supposed to tell anyone about that —”

“It’s alright, Gon,” Kurapika stopped him, smiling. “I know about Alluka. Killua told me.”

Gon blinked at him. “ _You’ve_ heard from Killua?”

Kurapika paused. “Briefly,” he settled on. “It was mostly a business call.”

“Oh,” Gon said, and looked back out towards the water. He brought one knee up and settled his chin on it. “I hope he’s doing okay.”

“I’m sure he is,” Kurapika said, a useless nothing platitude, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

They returned to the quiet for a while, surrounded by summer-sounds. A frog plopped into the water from a patch of weeds along the bank.

“He talks about you a lot,” Gon said out of nowhere. “Leorio, I mean.”

Kurapika ducked his head. “Ah. What does he say?”

“Well, I’m sure you know,” Gon said. “That he’s worried about you. That he wishes you’d pick up the phone more. That you’re probably not sleeping enough and forgetting to eat. The usual Leorio stuff.”

Kurapika studied the ground between his knees. 

“I’m just really glad you came to visit, Kurapika,” Gon went on. “I mean, we haven’t seen each other in so long and Leorio always makes it sound like you’re _this_ close to dropping dead, so it’s good to see you.”

“Leorio exaggerates,” Kurapika said.

Gon gave him a sidelong look. “You do look pretty tired, though.”

Kurapika felt tired. Every inch of him, every cell — a deep-seated exhaustion that was always lurking there if he let himself dwell for a moment too long. So he couldn’t bring himself to protest.

“Well anyway,” Gon said, “Sometimes people come to the island just to rest for a while. It’s pretty peaceful here, as long as you don’t hang around the pub too late. Maybe it’ll be good for you!”

Just then, Gon’s fishing pole lurched forward, dragging him across the grass a couple inches. He got to his feet with a shout.

“It’s a big one!” he yelled, grinning. “We’ll have a feast tonight, Kurapika!”

The fish gave Gon a fight, and his line ended up tangled around a root in the shallows; rather than cut it loose, he insisted that they wade in and try to corral it with their bare hands. Gon did not like to lose, same as ever. So Kurapika rolled up the hem of his white pants and kicked off his flats and splashed into the water, forcing it to swim Gon’s way; Gon bodily tackled it and wrestled with it so ferociously that Kurapika was half-sure he would drown. 

“Kurapika!” he called out as he dragged it towards the shore, and Kurapika lunged in to grab the fish’s tail — all slippery scale and thrashing muscle — and it knocked them both over into the shallow swampy water but they managed it, somehow, and Gon was gasping with laughter by the end of it and Kurapika was smiling wider than he had in a long time. Gon’s joy was so pure, so easy, and well, Kurapika couldn’t help it — in that moment with the fishy water soaking into their clothes and Gon’s hair dripping in his eyes, Kurapika couldn’t help but think of Pairo and the excursions they’d take together into the forest and the misadventures they had and it was a disservice to look at Gon and think of another, Kurapika knew, but the nostalgia with all its pain and sweetness took ahold of him nonetheless.

* * *

The days went on. A week passed, and Kurapika stayed. Mito continued to make more food than Kurapika could eat and Abe seemed to be ready at any moment with a hot cup of tea and Gon never got any less happy to see him. Gon might be a few years older than that excitable bull-headed twelve-year-old Kurapika had met on the boat, but he hadn’t lost an ounce of his energy.

A little too much energy, sometimes. Kurapika had taken to slipping out of the house early in the mornings on days when he woke with the knowledge that he’d need time alone, that day. He’d wander the paths Gon had shown him and make a few of his own if he felt so inclined; he had not lived in the wilderness for many years and the grimy urbanity of Yorknew City had forced him to adapt a new set of survival skills, but some of that childhood wildness remained underneath it all.

More often than not he’d end up wandering into town. Since he’d been seen with Gon, the locals had started treating him as one of their own; passerbys smiled at him, women hanging laundry up to dry waved him over to chat, the fruit seller in the market gave him an extra basket of tart-sweet berries at no cost. His interactions with them were straightforward and pleasant, with no underlying motives. After years in the mafia and all that time on the Black Whale when Kurapika had analyzed every word out of every other person’s mouth and catalogued every movement and thought ten steps ahead at every moment — all of it necessary just to survive — the simple kindness of the islanders was almost startling. His mind was … quieter … than it had been in a long, long time.

But quiet did not mean peaceful. Kurapika, alone on the beach again and walking with his bare feet in the surf, wondered where all his rage had gone. It was a hungry thing, rage, and it ate and ate so quickly that for years, Kurapika had fed it at every waking moment, with every passing thought. He’d close his eyes and imagine the eyes of his people in the hands of greedy strangers and the angry hungry thing would lurch around inside him. But now, when he closed his eyes he saw wildflowers and tree-green sunlight. And the hungry thing had left him.

Over the sound of the waves, Kurapika heard splashing. He opened his eyes and looked out and saw Gon there, swimming in strong strokes towards the shore. When the water got shallow enough he stood, shaking sea foam from his hair; he saw Kurapika and his face lit up.

“Hi, Kurapika!” he said, and stepped onto the sand. Kurapika noticed for the first time a towel and shirt folded up a few yards away; Gon toweled down his hair and pulled the white tank top over his head.

“Hi,” Kurapika said. “Where were you swimming to?”

“Oh, nowhere,” Gon answered cheerfully. “Every day I try to swim out to sea a little further.”

Kurapika frowned. “But where are you trying to get to?”

Gon laughed. “It’s not about getting somewhere, Kurapika. It’s about seeing how strong I can get.”

“Oh,” Kurapika said, and looked out over that broad blue expanse. “What do you do if you go out too far and don’t have the strength to come back?”

“Then I float,” Gon said, throwing his arms out wide. “The high salt content in the water makes it easy. And the current will always carry me home.”

In, out, in, out, went the sea against the beach. “That sounds nice,” Kurapika said, so quietly it was more to himself than anything.

Silence stretched on for long moments. When Kurapika looked over at Gon he was watching him thoughtfully, still absentmindedly drying his hair with the towel in one hand.

“Kurapika,” he said, “Have you ever built a sandcastle?”

Kurapika stared at him. “A sandcastle?”

Gon smiled. “I know it’s a little childish, but I think it’s nice to just … build something, sometimes. Plus it’s kinda the thing to do at the beach, right?”

They marked out a spot out of reach of the tide where the sand was firm and damp. Gon said he usually just started building and saw where it took him but Kurapika wanted to plan it out beforehand. They compromised by letting Kurapika sketch out a blueprint in the sand while Gon went to find things to decorate with. He came back with two buckets in hand, one filled with shells and bits of seaweed and in the other: a blue crab with yellow claws.

“I’m gonna put it back, I just thought maybe you’d like to see it!” he said, holding the bucket out to Kurapika.

Kurapika peered down over the yellow plastic rim. The crab peered back, and clacked its claws at him.

As they built up the base and went to work on the towers and moat, Gon asked him about what he’d done since they’d last been together. Kurapika spoke in sparing detail about hunting down the eyes and the events on the Black Whale and the Dark Continent. Kurapika had seen the many news stories about the Chimera Ant invasion in East Gorteau, so he turned his own questions instead towards Gon’s time playing Greed Island, and was treated to dozens more stories about Killua and Biscuit and Tszeguerra and Hisoka and Killua and Killua and Killua.

Gon said, “I’m glad you found all the eyes, Kurapika.” 

Gon asked, “Are you still gonna go after all the Spiders?”

Kurapika began carving windows into the tower he was building and admitted to both of them, “I don’t know.” 

Gon didn’t say anything. Kurapika got the impression he was waiting for him to say more. With all the windows finished, Kurapika began drawing a vine, growing up from the base of the tower and growing around and around and around, holding it within a strangling embrace.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said. His heart started racing, for some reason, as the words left his mouth. “I swore that I would, but I- I-” He swallowed. Hard. “I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

Saying it felt like a betrayal. It felt like spitting on a grave. The person he was two years ago would have driven a knife through his heart for even thinking such a thing. But he couldn’t stop thinking about all those hours, all that time spent in Emperor Time… all those days, all those years taken off his life… but of course Kurapika never expected to live very long, anyway, so why not throw himself at the Troupe? Why not erode away his life force, bit by bit, minute by minute?

He closed his eyes and imagined thirty-six neat graves growing wildflowers in the sunlight. There would be no one left to bury him there — no one to know how to find the burial grounds, no one to remember the Kurta burial rites, no one to say the prayer. No one who would carry on his mother tongue, no one to wear the customary clothes. No one to lay him down besides his friends and ancestors.

He wanted, all of a sudden, to lie here in the sand and sleep.

Gon was shaping up his own tower between his hands, bringing it to a point at the top. “You know,” he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “I did something kinda dumb last year. The thing that put me in the hospital.”

Kurapika looked up at him. The newscasts didn’t talk about that. Leorio didn’t either. All he knew was that Gon had overused his Nen. All he knew was that it would have destroyed him.

Gon’s hands stilled. “I was so angry. I was _so_ angry, Kurapika. I wanted revenge. I wanted that thing to hurt. And I just-”

He balled his hand into a fist and smashed it into the tower of the castle he’d been building. It went crumbling down in a shower of sand, bits of it scattering into the courtyard.

Gon stared at the ruins for a moment. “I lost my Nen,” he said. His other hand, resting on the sand beside his kneeling thighs, curled up into a fist too. “And I think … I think maybe I lost Killua.”

Kurapika touched his own tower, gently. “Lost him how?”

Gon shook his head. “I’m not sure. I guess … I hurt him. I pushed him aside. I wasn’t thinking, I was just — and now he’s gone. And I haven’t heard from him since.”

Kurapika imagined Gon sitting in his room with his phone in hand, willing it to ring. He thought of his own phone, and the near-hundreds of missed calls on it, all the voicemails he never bothered to listen to. Remembered Leorio looking at him with some sort of plea in his eyes.

Gon was looking up to the sky, and Kurapika could see the water glimmering in his eyes, beading along his lower lashes.

“And Kite’s alive anyway and … I don’t think it was worth it,” he said. “It wasn’t worth it.”

Kurapika looked at him. After a moment, Gon looked back, and blinked, and turned his gaze back to the castle. 

He went to scoop up the sand he had scattered. “I messed it up,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

Kurapika moved next to him and helped him gather up handfuls of sand. “It’s okay,” he said, and helped him shape the tower again. “It can be rebuilt.”

* * *

One week later, in the gray dawn light, Kurapika lay on his cot and stared at the ceiling and thought, _I have not built myself to love._

He conjured up his chains and raised his hand above his face, counting the delicate links draped over the fine bones of his hand and thinking, _I have shaped every part of myself for revenge, I have become a perfect weapon._

Kurapika recalled that moment when he had accomplished the sole act his ability had been crafted to do: Uvogin bound and sneering, bloodied and furious as a lion in a trap. It should have been a moment of victory, of a most profound satisfaction. Instead he felt nauseous, and angry frustrated tears prickled the backs of his eyes. Halfway back into the city after burying Uvogin, he’d had to stagger off the sidewalk and vomit — all thin burning liquid, since he hadn’t eaten in days.

There were ten Spiders left, and two of them Kurapika knew for sure had not been involved in the slaughter of his people, but would he have to fight them too to take down the rest? Would he have to kill cold-eyed Illumi, and the other brother too, smaller and slighter than even Killua? Would Killua forgive him? It certainly seemed outwardly like there was no love lost between Killua and most of his family, but the bonds of family could be strange constricting things.

And even if he could avoid fighting the two Zoldycks, that was eight more times he would have to outwit a Spider and pin them down. Chrollo alone would be a beast to capture; Kurapika had gotten quite lucky last time, considering what he’d heard of Chrollo and Hisoka’s fight. Eight more hearts to crush, eight more bodies to bury. 

Kurapika was always realistic. He knew his chances of surviving were very small. He knew it was an impossible task. That had never bothered him before.

But Kurapika’s memories were always oddly vivid at dawn.

Leorio calling him and calling him and calling him, never giving up, why did he never give up? The depths of emotion he hid behind his scowls and grouchiness and silly little glasses. The way he looked all intense right in Kurapika’s eyes as he slid a plate of food to him, the brief and tender touch of his hand on Kurapika’s shoulder.

Gon and Killua tussling in the park like a rambunctious pair of puppies, Gon and Killua standing proud and fearless in the hands of the Troupe — there because of him, there from trying to help _him_. Gon now, unusually pensive but still so earnest and sweet, Killua’s voice carefully casual over the phone.

His mother lifting his chin with a gentle touch as he packed to leave the village and saying, _be safe, but be adventurous!_ Her kisses peppered all over his face and the crown of his head until he pushed her away. His father shaking his head with a fond smile, saying _be adventurous, but be safe_. His hand squeezing Kurapika’s shoulder, his proud eyes.

Pairo saying, _promise me this,_ saying, _I’ll ask you, “was it fun?” So have a trip where you can answer “yes” from the bottom of your heart!_

For all these years Kurapika had not let love into his heart, not if he could help it, not for more than a moment. Loving would only give him more to lose, and there was no room for it besides the devouring anger anyway. But now the anger was gone, or sleeping, or buried, and as dawn brightened into daylight he could feel all that love muscling its way into his heart despite everything.

Where would the love go, if he died? He imagined it pouring out of him like blood, he imagined his friends trying to hold it in their hands as it seeped into the earth. He imagined his chest opening, and all the other intangible things that would spill out and evaporate along with his last breath.

There was no one else who would remember the Kurta words for flowers, for the birds and the trees, for the specific kind of love that ties childhood best friends together and the specific kind of pain that comes from learning someone has gone before you could say goodbye. No one else who would know how to cook the boldly spiced pastries made from berries and herbs that only grew in the Lukso Province and that had to be baked in the special Kurta ovens. No one else who could pass on the games of Kurapika’s childhood, accompanied by silly little rhymes and the roll of shiny stones. And so many things had already been lost; Kurapika had never learned how to weave a Kurta tabard or how to build a Kurta-style home or how to tame a wild ostrichicken. 

If he died, all that would die too. It was something he had never really considered, before. Perhaps his life was not his own, not anymore. Perhaps it belonged to all those ghosts that stood behind him, just out of sight, invisible in the sunlight. Perhaps it belonged to the living, too, to the friends who had been loving him all this time even while he shut them out, even while his own heart had no room for it.

But there was room now. There was room now.

* * *

Kurapika accompanied Gon to town again and stood on the edge of a dock while Gon picked up a few paper-wrapped packages in the marketplace. He always got distracted talking to the vendors, so Kurapika spent a long time watching the seawater lap around the legs of the dock and the gulls make noisy circles in the sky before Gon’s light footsteps creaked on the wood behind him. It was a gray day, and the stillness of the air made the smell of salt twice as strong.

Gon watched him for a few moments and then said, “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you.”

Kurapika turned to look at him. He nodded.

“I can always tell,” Gon said. “The sailors always start to stare at the sea when they’ve been here too long.”

“I can stay longer if you’d like -”

Gon shook his head emphatically. “No, Kurapika, I’m not upset!” He smiled. “That’s just the way it is around here. No one stays forever.”

There was a sadness in his smile. Somehow Kurapika knew his departure was not the sole cause of it.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s been … nice here. Peaceful.”

Gon’s smile brightened. “Not tonight, it won’t be — it’s a good thing I just got all this stuff, I know Aunt Mito’s gonna want to make you a _feast_!”

She certainly did, complaining all the while about the short notice, but Kurapika heard her humming over the stove and Gon giggling at her jokes. She did not glare at him until he ate, this time — she didn’t need to, as he had two full plates unprompted. She disappeared into the basement and returned moments later with a bottle of deep red wine; she and Abe did most of the work draining it, but Kurapika had a couple of glasses and was surprised by how warm the world felt afterwards, so much so that he didn’t even protest when Gon (who had been allowed about three thimble’s worth) insisted on taking a selfie with him and then sending that selfie to the rarely-used (though not from lack of trying on Gon’s part) group chat with himself, Leorio and Killua. 

Kurapika nearly collapsed onto his cot that night, heavy and warm from food and drink and honest company. When he awoke in the morning, he saw that there were several new messages in the chat. One was an image of Leorio, looking deeply exhausted but giving a cheerful thumbs up; he’d captioned it _wish i waz there! sry i look lk shit its xam wk_

Not long after Killua had sent his own picture: he was doing that smile of his where he was pretending to be too cool for the whole affair, the effect of which was somewhat ruined by Alluka in the background, grinning widely and waving like a maniac, her hand blurred.

 _you guys are so dumb lol,_ he’d typed.

Then, a full five minutes later: _alluka says she misses you gon_

Gon walked Kurapika down the hill to town that morning to catch the ferry. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

* * *

The whole trip to the mainland, Kurapika couldn’t help but wonder, was this the same ship as the last time? Was this where he’d weathered out the storm, reading calmly in a hammock? Was this where he’d fought Leorio, not the first and not the last battle he’d start over a few heated words? Was this where he and Leorio had reached out in unison to catch Gon’s ankles as he nearly leapt overboard in an act of reckless heroism?

How different everything was. The hell they’d all gone through since then … the memories they’d made. The Kurapika who’d stood here a few years ago could not have imagined a third of it. Not the bad. Certainly not the good.

He climbed the main mast and perched in the crow’s nest. He looked up at the stars.

_Mother, are you proud of me? Father, do you smile? Pairo, is this the adventure you imagined?_

He’d never get an answer, of course. But he could keep trying. He could always keep trying.

* * *

Kurapika knocked on the apartment door. It was late, or perhaps very early, but he could tell its occupant was still awake by the slice of light coming from under the door and the faint sound of music. He heard a muffled curse, and long loping footsteps made their way to the door. It opened, and Leorio was standing there.

There were bags under his eyes, and a bit of stubble on his chin, and a pencil behind each ear. He wore no tie, and his button-up shirt was partially undone with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. In the sitting room down the short hallway, Kurapika could see textbooks and papers strewn haphazardly across a low table.

“Kurapika?” he said. His mouth was open, his eyes wide. Doubtless he was wondering how Kurapika even knew where he lived, or how he knew he would be up at this time.

Kurapika took a breath. He clenched his fists, then willed them to loosen, one finger at a time.

“I can’t promise it’s over,” he said. Leorio looked confused, so Kurapika looked at him with all the intensity he could muster. “I can’t promise I’m finished.”

Leorio blinked. His posture straightened.

“But it’s not everything,” Kurapika went on. “It’s not everything anymore. And I want …”

How strange it was, to _want_ something, a softer sort of wanting. A wanting that went beyond a terrible craving for vengeance. A wanting that wanted a soft bed and a quiet mind and someone to have coffee with in the mornings.

“I want to try something different.”

The confusion had gone out of Leorio’s eyes, and the weariness. Instead, there was that hope again; somehow Leorio never ran out of it. Kurapika looked at him, and breathed.

“Can I stay?” he asked.

Leorio’s whole posture softened, and his face said fondly, _you idiot_ , and he opened the door wider, wider.

**Author's Note:**

> (tbh i don't think kurapika as he is now in canon is capable of letting go of vengeance but i just... wanted to see him try) 
> 
> if you liked it don't feel shy about leaving a comment!


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